


Body and Soul

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [17]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Coming Untouched, Dom Tony, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gentle Dom, Gentle Dom Tony Stark, Hand Jobs, Hints of Pain Kink, Kinktober, Kinktober 2017, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sub Steve, Sub Steve Rogers, loving dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 08:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12627471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “You’re going to make me really wait for this, aren’t you,” he laughed after a while, panting as Tony twisted his fingers gently on his nipple and made another wave of sensation arch through him.“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Tony said, smiling himself.  “Depends on how fast you can come from what I’m doing, I guess.”  He rubbed his thumbs up against the base of Steve’s nipples, the hard, red little nubs that felt very hot now, hot and prickling under each touch.Written for Day Nineteen of Kinktober: Nipple Play.





	Body and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> With [nightwalker’s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/pseuds/nightwalker) kind permission, based on a series of very inspiring asks and answers on her blog, [here](http://onemuseleft.tumblr.com/post/137115747955/that-nsfw-christmas-themed-set-of-stony-drawings), [here](http://onemuseleft.tumblr.com/post/137117619205/and-he-wears-white-t-shirts-all-the-time-right), and [here](http://onemuseleft.tumblr.com/post/137118992175/yesssss-he-blushes-every-time-tony-calls-them).

Steve’s nipples had been sensitive ever since before the serum, but after, after was when they’d really become so sensitive to the slightest pull, the slightest touch, a tug or a flick or a kiss, and by God, Tony made him feel it.

Even with how sensitive they were, Steve didn’t usually think about it that much—just registered the tingle of sensation when he scratched at them, sometimes how they felt hot and tight and tingling a little in the shower after a good workout or a long fight, or that it hurt extra sometimes when he took a hard hit to the pecs or lay on them just the wrong way.  During sex, though, all that went out the window.  As soon as he got turned on, it was like they were sensitive to the slightest touch, the slightest caress, even if it was a goddamn breath of air, standing up hard and hot on his chest and bright with sensation and need. Most of his sexual partners had enjoyed that over the years, teasing and tugging on them to make him come, to make him hard, to make his orgasms more intense.

Tony, though, Tony took it to a whole new level.  He’d squeeze and pinch and tease and touch and work Steve up until he was quivering, aching, cock desperately hard without even a hand on it, panting desperately for just a touch to it, and Tony would just ignore his hard, needing, throbbing cock to work him up more with little teases and touches to his nipples.

Tony had started, this time, by rubbing his hands gently over Steve’s pecs, smoothing over the muscle, clever dexterous fingers with their hard calluses and manicured nails rubbing the smooth skin and hard muscle until every inch of Steve’s chest felt sensitive under the warm touches.  Tony’s hands had felt cold to start with, but they’d warmed slowly over Steve’s skin as they rubbed and massaged at him.  It felt kind of wonderful, soothing at the same time it ramped him up, made him feel extra sensitive and breathless, and Steve’s instinct was to get a hand down to his cock and give himself a few tugs, but Tony just raised his eyes at him as soon as he started to move, and Steve went still.  “Oh, yeah?” he said. 

“Oh, yeah,” Tony said, and rubbed his thumb just under Steve’s nipple, gently, but enough for sensation to shoot through him, hot and tingling in his chest and down to pulse through his cock.  “I’m going to get you off from just your nipples today, champ.”

Steve felt himself smile, let his hands go loose, lax against the bed.  “Do you think you can?” he asked.

Tony rubbed gently at his nipple with two fingers, smiling as Steve gasped, heat and pleasure tingling warm under Tony’s fingers, more intense even than he’d expected, considering the gentleness of Tony’s touch.  “For sure,” he said.  “There’s no doubt in my mind, big guy.”

Steve felt himself smile, even as he panted through another shiver of pleasure as Tony squeezed gently, rocked his fingers over the tip of his nipple.  “Okay,” he said.  “Let’s give it a shot, mister.  Make me come.”

Tony smiled, wide and soft and fond, and it made something warmer and softer heat up and spread out in Steve’s chest.  “It’d be my pleasure,” he said, and got his other hand up to squeeze at both Steve’s nipples, making him gasp at the sensation, arch his back into it, his eyes rolling back in his head.  Steve felt himself laugh, almost in delight, as he came down, at how intense that had been, how it had left him reeling and shaking and seeing stars against the bed for a second, and Tony just smiled again and rubbed his nipples gently with his thumbs, ran his hands up over his pecs again, rocked his hands down over Steve’s chest.

He’d started slow and gentle and sensual, teasing, but Steve didn’t think it was going to last for a minute, and sure enough, slowly but surely, Tony started ramping it up, moving from long, slow strokes and massaging circles of his hands to squeezing and tweaking each nipple, rubbing around the areolas before he’d gently brush them with his thumbs and go back to little squeezing tugs.  “Oh, yeah, Tony,” Steve found himself gasping, “that’s the stuff, that feels so good.”

Tony just grinned, a quick flash of teeth between the frame of his dark, dramatic facial hair. “That’s good, cupcake,” he said, “I’m glad.”  He was kneeling between Steve’s legs now, braced over him as he squeezed and pinched at his nipples, and Steve sighed, tried to resist the urge to roll his hips again, pushing his cock up against nothing.

“You’re going to make me really wait for this, aren’t you,” he laughed after a while, panting as Tony twisted his fingers gently on his nipple and made another wave of sensation arch through him.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Tony said, smiling himself.  “Depends on how fast you can come from what I’m doing, I guess.”  He rubbed his thumbs up against the base of Steve’s nipples, the hard, red little nubs that felt very hot now, hot and prickling under each touch.

Steve moaned a little in response, let himself close his eyes and arc up into it.  Tony’s thumbs, strong and callused and one scarred on the pad from a welding torch, were so strong and sure there on his nipples, and it was amazing, the sensation, the pleasure, that arched through Steve just from that.  “You’re so beautiful,” Tony murmured, sounding breathless himself.  “You get so into it; I love seeing you, I love watching you.  Just feel it, Steve, right?”

“Ah,” Steve gasped, “yeah, yeah, it feels, it feels good, Tony, so, so good.”

“That’s perfect,” Tony told him, voice soft and velvety, breathless, curling thumb and forefingers around his nipples and giving them a tug, so sensation swept through Steve, stabbed deep into his gut.  “I’m going to work you up so beautifully, Steve, sweetheart.  You won’t even be able to think, just writhing and twisting under me.  I’m going to make you feel so good.”

And Steve gasped, because, oh, God, yes, he wanted that, did he ever want that.  It was almost torture, too, a constant tease, the sensation through that part of him that was so incredibly, intensely sensitive, the way it would almost get to be too much, so much sensation just right there, in his sensitive little tips (throbbing and swelling hot and pink now that Tony had had his hands on him), as Tony’s fingers teased at the sensitive areolas, squeezed and pinched and rubbed at them, too, but somehow Tony seemed to know just when it was getting to be too much, just when it was on the verge of overwhelming, too much sensation, not even pain, just so much tingling hot feeling sweeping through Steve at once, and would spread his fingers out, rub his hands up over Steve’s pecs, massage him gently and surely until he was shivering with that too, and only then go back to his nipples.

He flicked and teased, tugged, tightened his grip until little points of pain shot through Steve from his tight, sensitive peaks and he could feel, see, his chest heaving, the way he would flush, but somehow that was almost like a welcome counterpoint to the pleasure Tony would coax out of him the rest of the time, cutting through it like a hot zing through the softness that could almost grow overwhelming as Tony kept building that tingling pleasure, and Steve’s nipples would feel all the more hot and sensitive afterwards.  Before too long, they felt hot and tight all the time, and he was groaning, legs spread helplessly wide, rocking under Tony and pressing his chest up helplessly, hands clutching and kneading at the bed.  His cock felt so hard, hot and throbbing on his belly, and he could feel the wet slickness of precome over his skin, along his hip, where it had smeared, but somehow it seemed less important, less vital, less _immediate_ than the heat and sensation and searing pleasure that Tony coaxed out of each of his nipples with each tug and flick.

Tony kept talking to him, too, all the time, soft, constant murmurs of praise, how beautiful he was, how much Tony liked seeing him like this, telling Steve how gone on it he looked, how his mouth was sagging open, his face flushing, how he looked glazed and gone on it, sweet and hot and desperate, Tony said, as Steve writhed and pushed up into him, and he felt himself whimpering at the words.  Tony told him how red his nipples were turning, how hot they felt (he knew that, he could feel how hot they were, stinging with heat, radiating it against Tony’s fingers), how his areolas looked so red and the flush was spreading out hot and rosy into his pecs around them, how perky and needy and desperate they looked, standing up and almost as erect as his cock. “I love your nipples,” Tony said, and Steve heard himself just moan in response, starting to feel floaty and dizzy and gone on it, just like Tony was telling him, on the sensation from his nipples, high and tight and intense now as Tony dug his thumbs into the sensitive skin around them, massaged them more firmly, pulled and pushed down against his firm pecs until it all bled into one intense, warm wave of sensation over him that felt like it was washing Steve away on it, leaving him floating out somewhere in a warm ocean (one with no ice, ever, all warm soft water, the kind that sparkled with stars, warm eddies of waves soft around his toes).

“They’re just lovely, handsome,” Tony continued, “such pretty pink nips, Steve,” and Steve groaned as Tony pulled on them, rubbed his thumbs over them.  They were starting to feel hot and oversensitive now, prickling with each rub of Tony’s thumbs, and when he dragged his eyes open, looked down at them, they were pink and rosy and swollen, just like Tony had said, somehow looking so … sexual standing out and erect like that, all pink and puffing and standing up from his chest and the pink puffy flushed little mounds under them just as much and Tony’s fingers, his olive skin next to Steve's flushed pink skin such a contrast, clever and commanding and not quite rough as they tweaked at them, rolled them between his fingers, pulled, and Steve moaned again. His mouth felt wet, his head hazy and thick and pounding, dizzy with heat as he writhed under Tony, rolled his hips, shifted his rear over the bed.  He sort of felt like he should feel embarrassed, maybe, when Tony called them that, said things like that, but he didn’t, not really.  It went straight to his cock, made him feel warm and dizzy, because there was this worshipful tone in Tony’s face like he said it, like he really did think Steve’s nipples were so pretty, that he was handsome, that his whole body was beautiful, like Tony was really _enjoying_ him and how pink and pretty his nipples were, and Steve, Steve couldn’t get enough of _that_. Tony looked up at him, grinned a little, tugged on one of Steve’s nipples again, making him gasp at the hot overworked jolt of it, and said, “You have such gorgeous tits, stud.”

Steve flushed, knew he did, felt all hot and overwhelmed all over his face, all through his head, bit his lip, and Tony just grinned even more and spread his hands out over each of Steve’s pecs, rubbing against them, rubbing the heels of his hands down against his nipples until Steve felt his eyes slide closed again and he moaned, drifting away on the sensation, the way it felt almost soft against the sore raw twinges of each of Tony’s gentle swipes to his sensitive nipples.

“They’re so big and perky,” Tony purred.  “They bounce when you work out, you know; your uniform holds ‘em in, obviously, all that armor, if it didn’t we’d have issues, but when you’re running or working in the gym, I can see them bouncing.  Because they’re so big, babe, such big, beautiful tits. Suckable.  With such tight, pink, perfect little nipples.”  He pushed them up and Steve sucked in his breath at the sudden tightness of the feeling, then let them go, and they bounced down, and Steve could feel it pull on his sensitive skin, the tight flesh of each sensitive nipple as they tugged on them, and gasped at the feeling.  He couldn’t really deny that they had bounced, and Tony just smiled again and circled one of Steve’s nipples idly with his finger.  “You get so desperate,” he said.  “So raw and tight and desperate.  Look at you.  You’re sore already, aren’t you?  You’ve got such sensitive skin.  Maybe I should put cream on these after, make sure they don’t chafe.”

Steve managed to find some kind of words at that, groaned, made some kind of soft moaning sound. “N-no,” he groaned, and Tony bit his own lip, grinning, looked up at him, still tracing his finger, slow and teasing, around Steve’s pec, around his nipple, not touching it.  

“No?” he asked.

Steve bit his lip, not sure how to explain it—how he liked the heat, the tightness, the soreness afterwards, after Tony played with them like this, how he felt hyper-aware of his nipples, swollen and a little sore, rubbing against his shirts, how it always brought him back to his body, into the moment, that slight twinge of soreness and how it reminded him of Tony, here with him, how it made him feel good.

“No,” he managed, somehow, feeling his face growing ever hotter.  “Please.”

“Well,” Tony purred, his smile going softer, now (his lips were so soft, looked so soft against the contrast of his beard, Steve had always thought so, and when he smiled so softly the softness of his mouth was so clear), “your wish is my command, sugar cookie.”  He brought his fingers in, pinched at Steve’s nipple again, a little more, and Steve caught his breath, his eyes squeezing closed as he arched up into it again. “Good boy,” Tony murmured, a soft, low murmur, almost a whisper, and brought his fingers over to do the same thing to the other one.  Steve cried out, a little, harsh and low, his fingers clenching against the bed, because the sensation was just so vivid, warm and burning through each raw, sensitive nipple.  Tony stroked his finger over the sensitive, throbbing little nub, then did the same to the other, stroking his fingers over them both, lightly.  “So, so good, so into this, aren’t you, you’re feeling it so much, so deeply, aren’t you, such a good boy, letting yourself feel it, float away on it.”

Steve just gasped, now. He couldn’t seem to think or speak, his mind floating away on the sensation that tingled through him, shot through him hot and bright with every time Tony touched his tingling, sensitive, prickling nipples.  They felt raw, now, yes, raw and hot, but the pleasure was all the more intense, too, with every rub of the pad of Tony’s thumb along the side of one of them, brush of his finger or squeezing tug.  He could feel his cock, smearing over his belly, swaying so it jerked against his belly, but it seemed far away compared to the hot, bright, immediate, intense sensation in his nipples.  Tony’s hands just kept working him, clever, in control, as he praised Steve’s heaving tits, his heavy bobbing muscles, the throbbing ache of each nipple as they stood up desperate and tall for more of the same treatment no matter how much his plucking hands began to hurt.

When Tony first leaned in, let his breath play warm over one prickling nipple, Steve’s breath almost sobbed out of him.  It prickled, hot, seemed to pull even more sensation toward the surface, remind his nipple of how hot and tight and tender it felt, and then Tony was sliding his tongue along it, hot and wet and making the raw, tender skin sting bright, beautifully, sweetly bright, with sensation, hot pleasure just on the edge of pain shuddering through Steve on a hot wave, making his breath bunch up in his throat and his face sting, and maybe his eyes watered a little.  Maybe.

Tony’s mouth on them was soothing compared to the rougher touch of his hands, and it was incredible pleasure, soothing the ache until it peaked as tight, trembling, tender pleasure in the hot tip of each peaked nipple, throbbing in the skin around it, and Steve found himself gasping low and deep, rocking up into Tony’s slow laves of his tongue, his teasing, careful licks.  He wasn’t sucking on him, not yet, just dragging his mouth over them, licking around them, over them, teasing the tips with his tongue, sliding it around them until Steve’s chest was wet and he could feel the air cool against the wetness whenever Tony moved his mouth away, switched to the other nipple.  When Steve managed to drag his hazy eyes open again, he could see Tony supporting himself with his hands, forearms in the bed on either side of him, and before he even knew what he was doing, his hands were in Tony’s hair, sliding into the soft, fluffy strands, gripping at his head, not hard, Steve controlled himself harshly, ruthlessly, not letting himself pull, just cradling him, desperate, somehow, suddenly, to feel that soft thick hair under his hands, feel the curve of Tony’s head under his palms as Tony brought such pleasure to his chest.  His hair was flopping down over his forehead, Steve thought with a dizzy wave of fondness, before Tony got a hand up and teased his fingers over his neglected nipple again and Steve’s eyes slid closed on a ragged gasp as pleasure washed over him again.

It felt like Tony kept him there for hours, teasing and touching and pulling and stroking, licking and tracing them with his tongue in between to keep Steve’s nipples wet and the air tracing teasingly over them, cool against the hot peaks, even as his fingers pinched and pulled and soothed and tugged at each nipple neglected by his mouth in turn.  Steve had no way of knowing how long it was.  His cock throbbed, neglected and ignored even by him between his legs, his balls ached sweetly, pleasantly, his whole body felt loose and tight at the same time somehow, and sweaty.  He was reduced to panting, trying not to writhe too much and elbow Tony in the nose or something by accident, digging his heels into the bed, breathing heavily through his nose, letting his hands slide desperately, smoothing and caressing, through Tony’s hair.  He couldn’t seem to remember how to speak at all, couldn’t even get the breath to moan, couldn’t imagine what he would have said with the sensation washing over him like this, ever deeper and more overwhelming, each tug on his nipples a brighter, hotter, sweeter pain, a deeper tingle of overstimulated pleasure. Tony would squeeze and gently graze his teeth over a nipple and tug on it, twisting, until bright hot pain sparked through Steve’s body, scratch around the areola, flick it with his fingers and go back to dragging his tongue over it ever so slowly, and then when Steve was aching, dragging in deep, desperate breaths, all his focus on breathing evenly, feeling his chest stutter and throb and heave, Tony would bring his hand up and pinch the same nipple so gently, until it was twinging with tender, painful, gentle pleasure, tweaking and rubbing so softly with the pads of his fingers, stroking, soothing each hot, tight nipple so carefully with his touch, so that that hot tightness faded away gradually into a tender, throbbing ache that seemed to pound in time with Steve’s heart.

“You’re so beautiful,” Tony would gasp out again, pressing kisses over the valley between Steve’s pecs, up and over each one, up to his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, facial hair a gentle caress against his skin, while his fingers soothed Steve’s aching nipples, playing over them so tenderly and gently and Steve had his head tossed back, his throat bared, “Sweetheart,” he would say, his voice so warm and deep and soft and real that that tight wetness would be back prickling in his eyes again, and his breath would go all uneven, stuttering wildly all over the place as Tony’s facial hair slid so softly over the damp, sweaty skin at Steve’s throat, his collarbones, and his hand would move down to rub at Steve’s heaving stomach as he moved back down to lick and tongue over Steve’s hot, aching nipple again, and God, he had had no idea how sensitive they could get, so that every lave of Tony’s tongue seemed to send pleasurable fire spiking and twisting through his chest, his body, down to his cock, making it ache and throb where it pulsed and jumped against his belly.  It felt tender, too, tender and hot and needing and throbbing, the tip so sensitive and wet that he could feel each trail of precome as it leaked down his shaft and pulsed out over his belly, the sensitive tip almost itching for some kind of, any kind of touch, even as his own focus was on the searing pleasurable burn Tony was coaxing out of his throbbing, sensitive nipples.

Steve became increasingly, achingly, painfully sure that he would come the moment Tony put a hand on him, hell, even breathed on him, but, true to his word, Tony ignored his cock entirely, instead tongue and sucking on Steve’s nipples like he might have on his goddamn cock, trailing his tongue around the sensitive skin surrounding each one of them while his fingers plucked and pinched and teased at them until Steve’s breath was sobbing in his throat.  Eventually, Steve—well, he didn’t forget about the heat, the throbbing in his dick, he never did, but he floated away from it, went somewhere soft and easy, where there was just Tony’s breath, his soft tongue, his teasing, callused fingers as they gently pinched and then soothed each nipple, the building sensation, the pleasure, the tight aching heat of it, the pain, as he brought Steve higher and higher with just his nipples, the soft scratch of his beard against the wet, so sensitive skin around each one, over his pecs, the feel of his soft hair under Steve’s hands.

And then Tony closed his mouth around the tight, throbbing peak of one of Steve’s nipples and _sucked_ , and everything went tight in him, tight and hot and bright, and his breath turned sobbing, aching in his throat. Tony sucked, deep and long, almost softly, but it was so much against his hot, swollen, tender, throbbing nipple that it felt like tiny pinpricks, pins and needles at the same time as hot, high, overwhelming pleasure.

And then Tony pulled off, gave that nipple a long, slow lick, and teased it gently with his fingers, tweaking and rubbing with his thumb against the underside, as he closed his mouth over the other and sucked that, too.  And then he got his tongue into it, playing at him like he might have with his cock, sucking and sucking, and he did that two or three more times, switching between them and licking and mouthing at them wetly, playing at them with his fingers in between, and Steve surprised himself when he came, gasping as the pleasure lit up behind his eyes and swept over him and dragged him under.

He floated for a long time, on that soft starlit water of pleasure, his whole body feeling like it was sparkling with that hot tender ache of sensation, of pleasure, and then Tony got his hand down on his cock and stroked him through it, and there was a hand in his hair, and Steve felt so, so, so good, the pleasure just washing over him in soft waves that seem to go on forever and ever and ever.  When he came back to himself a little he felt wrung out, exhausted, his muscles drained and limp, and Tony was still gently stroking, fondling, his soft cock, his hand in his hair at the same time as he lay there beside him.

“Told you you could do it, sunshine,” he said, so gently, as his hand came off Steve’s tingling, aching cock and moved up over his belly, sliding through his come, but he didn’t seem to care, and leaned in to kiss him, hand tangling so gently in his hair.

They stayed there in the bed, a while longer, Tony stroking Steve’s hair, curled around him, half on top of him, rubbing his belly, nuzzling his facial hair along Steve’s jaw, until the burning exhausted ache in Steve’s muscles was a little less, and he could breathe again, a little less fuzzy, a little more with it, and then Tony just smiled at him, a beaming grin, tilted his chin up, and kissed him again.

Steve sucked him off in the shower, after.  It was a good, good night, and the soft exhausted heaviness, the tingling sparks of pleasure and sensation and satisfaction, didn’t leave his muscles even as they cleaned up, even as they fell into the soft, clean sheets that Tony had made sure they put on the bed, and curled up around Steve, his arms around him and his knees behind Steve’s, as they slept, and Steve drifted off soft and held and warm and floating, his hand clasped over Tony’s at his chest and his nipples pleasantly aching.

Almost the best part was waking up with Tony still curled around him, warm and soft and fast asleep, the covers soft around them, feeling him warm against his back, and his nipples still twinging and throbbing slightly with every breath, warm enough on his chest that Steve felt very aware of them.  He brought a hand up, ran it along one of them, along the bottom curve of his pectoral, brushed it over the tight, hot, trembling nub and felt it twinge with sensation, incredibly sore and swollen feeling under his hand, and still so warm.  Steve sucked in his breath, let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, just enjoying it. It would probably bruise, even on him, and please, God, maybe they would last for the day, coming in over the course of it so they were even more bruised than now by afternoon, tight and straining against his shirts.  He raised both hands, pushed them over the tight hot points of his nipples and pressed, feeling their painful sensitivity arc through him, let it make his breath stutter in his throat, reveling in it for a long moment before he forced his eyes open, slid out of bed and started getting ready for the day.

All through his morning run, though, he was aware of them, tight and tingling and hot and sore and bruised on his chest, rubbing against the t-shirt he was wearing, the bounce every time he landed on his feet (and okay, maybe Tony was right and they did bounce a little, he admitted ruefully, even as the painful rub of his raw nipples against his shirt made his cock thicken up awkwardly in his sweatpants). By the time he was satisfied, his muscles just starting to warm and burn, they were raw and hot and painful, even more than they had been the night before, over-sensitive and burning, and in the shower when he looked down at himself naked, they looked dark with smudged, soft bruises, puffy and swelling, the tips chafed and raw.  Steve rubbed himself with one hand on his cock and the other on one of them, pulling on it, rolling it between his fingers until it sparked tight with pain, leaning his forehead against the wall of the shower and trying not to moan until he came.

He didn’t see Tony after that until later that afternoon, when he came into the kitchen where Steve was making himself a cup of coffee.  He was wearing a tight white t-shirt, maybe halfway, partly hoping that Tony would see him in it and think about what they’d done the night before, what he’d done to his chest, and almost a little guiltily enjoying how tight it felt rubbing over his sore, bruised, aching nipples.  It was like every time he moved he was reminded of Tony, and when he saw Tony again it was like a shock of raw warmth down his spine, prickling over them, even down to his cock, and he couldn’t help looking at him over the heads of Jan and Wanda and Clint, sitting at the kitchen table playing cards and snacking on a bunch of nachos someone had made, Steve had missed who.

Tony met his eyes and smiled, slow and soft, and prickling warmth washed over Steve, all the way down to his toes, and he fumbled with his coffee cup a little, turning back to the coffee maker so he wasn’t just totally obvious.

“Ooh, nachos,” Tony said a moment later, from across the kitchen, as if he hadn’t just made Steve’s skin go hot and quivering with awareness all over, like his whole body was attuned to him.

“Get your own,” Clint said, not looking up from his cards.

“Now that’s not very nice,” Tony said. “Steve, are you going to help me out with these freeloaders?” When Steve looked back, he was standing with his hands on the back of Clint’s chair, his smile brighter now but just as soft, awareness dancing in his eyes.  Steve smiled back, feeling it go shy on his face.  Tony was wearing a suit, complete with jacket and tie, and he looked sharp as ever, put together and polished.

“We’re all kind of freeloaders, aren’t we?” he asked.

“Yeah, but Tony’s in love with you, so you don’t count,” Clint said.

“Clint,” Wanda said gently.

“I am, Barton, it’s true,” Tony said, still looking at Steve.  “So he gets special privileges.”  He smiled at Wanda, and Steve swallowed, turned back to his coffee.

Tony was there, leaning against the counter beside him a moment later.  “Don’t I get some coffee?” he asked, reaching out and tracing a hand gently up Steve’s arm, and Steve felt warm all over.  His nipples were throbbing, tight under his shirt.  His arm felt tingling and hot wherever Tony touched.

He swallowed.  “Well,” he managed to say, “we are in love.”  He filled another cup and fixed it how Tony secretly liked it (he almost always drank it black, but he liked it with sugar and cream), sliding it across the counter toward him.

“Thank you,” Tony said, in that low soft voice again, looking up at Steve under his eyelashes as he picked it up and sipped at it, and Steve almost broke the coffee maker, and also almost splashed coffee on himself.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Jan said. “Can I get some?”  Steve somehow managed to tear his eyes away, and busied himself making coffee for the rest of them.

He wasn’t sure quite how it happened—Tony drank his coffee, trailed a hand up Steve’s arm again, then dragged his fingers over his pectorals through his shirt and said, “Well, duty calls,” and walked out of the kitchen, waving at the others, and Steve stood there with his back to the counter drinking his coffee and thinking for a moment, then put it down and mentioned something about the gym and followed him.

Tony got him pushed back against the wall with just a light hand on his chest, the other on his wrist, trailed his fingers down and said, hissing and eyes blown, “God, Steve, I can see them through your shirt.”

Steve flushed, looked down, and, okay, maybe if you knew his nipples were swollen and bruised, you would know what you were looking at, could see the soft swollen peaks of them through the white cotton.

Maybe he’d wanted it that way.  He swallowed, feeling his shirt tight and tugging over the sore, sensitive nubs as his chest heaved, and then said, stupidly, “Tony.”

“The things you do to me,” Tony said, loving and worshipful and overcome, and then he had Steve’s jaw in his hand and he was kissing him, deep and wet and lingering, their chests rubbing together, and Steve moaned and arched up into it, into that deep, dirty, wet kiss and the rough and ready friction between them, the way his raw nipples scratched against Tony’s suit jacket through the fabric of his own shirt.

“More like the things you do to me,” Steve said, breathlessly, feeling hot in the face, all down his neck into his chest, down to his nipples, when Tony pulled away.  His mouth felt wet, and Tony’s eyes looked blown, soft and dark and starry like the night sky, velvet-blue.

Tony’s lashes fluttered over his eyes.  “You’re gorgeous,” he said, fervently.  “Are they sore, sweetheart?  Can you feel them, all bruised and tight, rubbing against your shirt like that?”

“God, yes,” Steve said, moaned, swallowed.  “I’ve been feeling ‘em all day, all; they're all tight and sore and hot.”

“Are they really bruised?” Tony said.  His fingers trailed up Steve’s side, making his skin spark and tingle under their soft, dragging touch through his shirt. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, and it came out breathless.  They felt fuller, more swollen now, with it, and when he looked down he could even see it just a little through the shirt.  “It probably won’t last, but—” 

“Mmm,” Tony said, “we’ll see.”  His hand came up, tweaked Steve’s nipple through his shirt, sending hot sensation prickling through him on a wave, and Steve’s head thudded back against the wall, he felt his breath leave him on a gasping breath that was almost a moan.

And then Tony’s mouth was pressed against that nipple through the shirt, dragging his tongue over the peak through the cotton, and Steve almost choked on his breath.  His fingers dug in against the wall, and Tony’s hand curved at, along his side, and oh, wow, the warmth of his mouth on that sore, throbbing, sensitive place, the soft clinging rasp of the fabric, made Steve’s head spin.  He almost moaned, felt his knees going weak.  “O-oh,” he gasped.  “Tony.  Tony.” They were standing there in the hallway outside the kitchen, their teammates just in the other room, and Tony had his mouth on his sore, bruised, overstimulated nipples.

“Okay?” Tony murmured, and lapped at it with his tongue, and Steve’s eyes rolled back in his head, he heard himself groan.  It felt so good.  His nipples had ached, twinging, painful, itching for a touch all day, and now Tony’s _mouth_ was on them, just as soft and wet and hot and sure and soothing as it had been the night before, with the added drag of the cloth, and—and—

“Yeah, ‘course,” he managed to gasp out, “but—but—”

“You can be quiet, right, sport?” Tony gasped against his pectoral through the damp fabric, and Steve just—he just—he shoved his fist in his mouth, bit down on the skin, trying to control himself, because Tony went back to sucking and laving at his poor throbbing nipple through the shirt just then, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he could without the help.  Tony’s mouth felt incredible, wet and hot and dragging, mouthing at the swollen, bruised peaks until the fabric of the shirt was wet and clinging, then blowing at it until his hot damp breath feathered over it as cool air and Steve bit down, sucking at his knuckles, desperate not to make a sound, and then Tony just switched to the other one and brought his thumb up to rub at the first, and Steve’s head thunked back harder against the wall, he couldn’t help it, as prickling heat shot through his entire body, going straight to his cock, hot and throbbing and straining now against his briefs and the front of his slack so that his belt and his fly felt very tight suddenly.

Tony just mouthed and mouthed at him, massaging his other pec, his other tit, roughly with his thumb and the heel of his hand, pushing him back against the wall, sucking wildly, deeply, like he did when he sucked Steve’s cock and was desperate for it, like he needed it down his throat.  Steve clutched at his head, fingers sliding through his hair, holding him close to his chest, instinctively unable to bear the idea that Tony might just walk away and leave him like this, feeling his own slobber and spit wet all over his hand, the bite of his own teeth, the way his nipples throbbed and ached, hot and bright and so damn tender, as Tony sucked and laved and suckled them into sensitivity even more burning and hot and trembling than it had been the night before, raw and sore and bruised and all the more intense with it.  Steve heard himself moaning against his hand, arching his back to push his chest into it, as Tony curled his tongue around his nipple, pushing wet, transparent fabric against it with his tongue, dragged his teeth over it, and Steve whimpered.

His nipples throbbed with a hot, tender ache, and he felt hot in the face as Tony rubbed at them, switching between one and the other as if he never wanted one to feel neglected, tugging his teeth in gently to the areolas and the soft flesh around them until Steve was trembling, panting, his fingers slipping at the back of Tony’s head. It felt so good.  He couldn’t take it, he was going to cry out, they’d hear, they’d hear for sure—

But he did take it, somehow, arching up into Tony’s mouth, hot and wet and breath trembling over his chest in between that hot, clever mouth on each nipple, mouthing around it, massaging the flesh with his other hand, felt himself going hot and soft all over again, his chest so painfully tender and raw and sensitive and beautifully sore until he felt that same heat all over, pounding in his cock, and then Tony got his hand down, sucking hard on Steve's nipple and rubbing at Steve's cock through his trousers at the same time, and Steve came with a cry he could barely strangle with his own hand.

Tony surged up and dragged Steve’s hand down out of his mouth afterwards, kissed him while his mouth was still gasping and hanging open, still stroking him through his slacks, rubbing at his nipple with one hand, and Steve whined, moaned into his mouth, got his other hand up and held onto Tony’s head, with both hands, pressing up into the kiss, pulling him down against his mouth.

When Tony finally released him, he sagged back against the wall, and he felt warm and shivery and glowing all over, good and soft and gentle and high and bright with it, like a sunshiny day, and Tony smiled at him, rubbed the backs of his fingers against his cheek.  There were big wet patches over Steve’s chest, and he smiled, wide and dopey, probably, as he got a hand up and rubbed at them, feeling the twinge, the hot tender ache.  His come felt slimy, still warm and wet in his underpants, against his cock.

“Oh, jeez, Tony, thank you,” he panted, and Tony’s eyes went even softer; he leaned in and kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Yeah, of course,” he murmured.  His mouth was wet, spit-slick, saliva smeared in his goatee, too.  “You need a shower, big guy,” he said, wiping his mouth. “You go up there, all right?  I’ll join you in a second.”  His hands rubbed at Steve’s shoulders, gently up and down his sides.  “And you can show me the bruises I left, okay?  Maybe get me off again?”

“Sure thing,” Steve said, chuckling a little as he looked down at himself.  Yeah, Tony had made a hell of a mess of him.  He really did need a shower.  He traced a hand down, over one still throbbing nipple.  “You won’t be long, right?” 

“Nah,” Tony said, all soft and warm, and squeezed his shoulders with both hands.  “I’ve got some paperwork to do, and some specs to look over, but I can do that up there with you, after.  You can put your head in my lap and we can cuddle for a while, maybe.”

Oh, that sounded good. That sounded so good.  He shouldn’t, he had things to do, but.  But Tony was so busy, and they never just took a day, and—and Tony would get to see his bruised, sore nipples, maybe rub them a little, a tease, as Steve lay there with him, Tony would hold him.

Tony smiled, cupped his jaw. “Go on, sunshine,” he said.  “I’m giving you permission.  Take the rest of the day off.  I used to be the team leader, after all, and I’m pulling rank on you, soldier.  Go on, move that pretty ass.”

“Okay,” Steve breathed, feeling himself flush.  “Don’t take too long,” he said, realized he was repeating himself, and flushed darker. He leaned in to press a kiss to Tony’s lips, long and slow and hot and deep, then pulled away, smiling at him, and left to go up the stairs, stealing one look back at Tony, who smiled, and Steve just felt loose and relaxed all over, smiled back at him, wide and content.


End file.
